


Might Sound Crazy, But It Ain't No Lie (Bi, Bi, Bi)

by Edwardina



Category: Glee
Genre: Barebacking, Bisexuality, Breast Fucking, Breasts, Coda, Dirty Talk, F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glee kink meme fill.  Blaine is gay, but nevertheless develops an interest in girls with big chests.  Santana has an amazing rack that Blaine can't help staring at, and she totally knows it.  After Santana teases him about it, they hook up and are both surprised by how much they enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Sound Crazy, But It Ain't No Lie (Bi, Bi, Bi)

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this counts as a Glease coda? Anyway, there's quite the number of Santana het prompts on the Glee kink meme. I chose [this one](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/40066.html?thread=53183106#t53183106).
> 
> I believe Santana is a lesbian and support her girl-love wholeheartedly and don't mean for this to negate her sexuality. That said, I love Blaine het, SOOOOO.
> 
> Title from 'N Sync.

It was great having the graduates come back for _Grease_ , except for the terrible run-in with Kurt and Rachel backstage. Blaine was so distraught afterwards, he knew his performance suffered, but Fletcher Mantini didn't seem to notice. It was reassuring to know that capable old hands like Finn, Mike, and Mercedes were on deck, helping to ensure the show would be great without Blaine carrying as much weight as he had in _West Side Story_. He tried to talk to Kurt after the show, but Kurt had walked away from him. He didn't trust Blaine.

At the after-party at Breadstix, Blaine just stuck his fork into his food repeatedly and played with it, distracted and depressed, jammed shoulder-to-shoulder in a big circle booth with Sam, Mike, Mercedes, and Santana. He hadn't wanted to go home and think about how at this time last year he'd been having sex for the first time with the love of his life, and how this year, everything was a mess. But he couldn't keep track of the conversation. No one seemed to care how unspeakably bad he felt.

The only thing that really stuck out to him was Santana. Her hair was still in Rizzo curls, but she'd changed into a tight bustier top that was way more like something Sandy would wear at the end of _Grease_.

It didn't exactly help him feel better, but Blaine couldn't help staring at her chest.

He definitely was 100% gay, but the past few weeks, even just jerking off had reminded him too much of Kurt and how he'd cheated and totally sullied the very act of sex for himself, probably forever. In his weakest hour, he'd started watching bisexual porn... stuff with a girl thrust between two guys, just to distract him and keep him from slipping into a fantasy involving Kurt. He'd watched some with two girls and one guy, too. So much the better.

Yes, he was definitely homoromantic as well, but still, as of late, he'd transitioned from threesomes to regular hetero porn. There was just a lot more of it out there, longer clips featuring prettier people, and the quality of it was so outrageously high. The POV blow jobs with deep-throating were amazing, and he loved seeing girls choke noisily on big cocks, precome hanging out of their mouths and off their chins, and get loads of come on their face. It was probably more that he liked seeing huge dicks, and he liked seeing come spurting. He got off really hard one night when he saw an extra-huge comeshot stripe across and cling between a hot pair of tits he knew were fake, they were so big. The woman had talked about how that hot come felt so good and urged the guy along as he rubbed his spent, dribbling dick all over her chest and rubbed his knob onto her come-sticky nipples for the camera. He didn't know what it was, but it made him shoot the biggest load ever. It was just something totally different than he'd ever seen or thought he would ever want to see. It had nothing to do with his sex life. It was strictly unemotional. It was kind of disgusting.

After that, his bookmarks folder had started to swell with video links that made him look practically straight.

So naturally, seated right across from Santana and her obviously fake but still amazing rack, Blaine chubbed in his white Teen Angel pants. He made sure his napkin covered it, but instead of feeling too awkward about it, he just longed for more, wishing she wasn't wearing the tiny cropped leather jacket she'd thrown on over that sexy top.

He tried not to stare, but he couldn't help it, because nothing else rivaled the sight. When Santana noticed he was looking at her, her false eyelashes fanned as she eyed him back, brow cocked. Blaine looked away, of course, as he was totally gay and therefore not at all interested in Santana's boobs.

"Oh, it's so great to be back here with all of you," Santana said loudly, stretching her arms up and putting one around Mike. It thrust her chest right out, her top lifting her round tits. She stretched a couple of times, yawning theatrically, her tits rising like they might bust out of the cups holding them, then finally said, "Is it hot in here, or is it totally just me?"

At that point, she slid out of her jacket, and Blaine knew he was caught.

"You know, it's November now. You're going to get cold," Blaine told her.

"So I'll get a tit bit nipply," Santana shrugged, and grinned at him coyly. "What do you care?"

Once the after-party ended, the group hung in front of the restaurant saying final good nights out in the chilly air, Santana with her jacket over her bare arm, shoulders totally exposed to the elements and nipples visibly hard in her top. Blaine shook hands with Mike, Finn, and Artie, hugged Mercedes, accepted compliments from Brittany, waved goodbye to Sam. Finally, it was just him and Santana standing in front of the doors of Breadstix, that middle-aged waitress with the gray-blond hair cleaning up their plates inside.

"So, Teen Angel, how did you like my performance?" Santana asked.

"As always, Santana, your distinctive voice was a pleasure to hear," said Blaine, hands shoved in his pockets. He was just glad his coat was a good length and could cover his wood. "I enjoyed your take on Rizzo."

Santana tilted her head, enjoying and agreeing with the praise.

"How 'bout my girls?" she asked, cupping them and gazing down at them dotingly. "Were they good? 'Cause you sure do seem star-struck by them."

"E... excuse me?" Blaine laughed nervously.

"You stared at my boobs the whole time we were in there!" Santana accused. She didn't sound mad. She sounded more like it was hilarious. "I would've thought it's just because you're so short, you only come up to my nipples, but we were sitting, and still, the whole time, you were just eyeing them up."

"Uh, okay, I'm actually several inches taller than you," Blaine said, choosing to laugh in a dignified way this time. "You're in unnecessarily tall heels at the moment, so you have maybe half an inch on me, if that. But of course, I'm not beyond giving praise where praise is due. You look really great, Santana. Kentucky must be treating you well."

"Hm. Well, 'Say goodbye to these, Michael,'" Santana replied, and slung her jacket around her shoulders. "I've gotta get home and get a start on my laundry. Later."

Blaine sighed, breath steamy in the air, as he watched Santana strut off towards her car. Well, she was way hotter than he remembered.

He needed to cool down, so he stood there in the cold for another couple minutes, checking his phone for any messages from Kurt. It was a bad habit he hadn't yet broken. His Facebook wall already boasted several pictures from the play and the after-party. Kitty had posted a smiling selfie with Marley caught looking uncertain in the background. Sugar had posted one of her and Blaine smiling just off-stage after their number; she still had her Frenchy wig on, and Blaine could see his eyes were watery and his smile flat. Brittany had posted about twenty of Santana, some with her leaning into the shot, too, obviously happy to see her ex-girlfriend, and some where they were smirking at the camera together, but mostly of Santana getting ready backstage or taken from stage left as she sang. They were almost artistic. Blaine "liked" one from the dance scene that showed off her cleavage before he could stop himself.

"Oh," said a voice. "Oh, good! You're still here. You were with that group from McKinley, weren't you?"

It was the waitress.

"Yes," said Blaine. "The _Grease_ after-party."

"I thought so, by the hair," said the waitress. She held up a shiny black rectangle. "This was left in one of the booths. It doesn't have ID, just hairspray, some earrings... stuff like that. You think it's one of your friends'?"

"If it was in the round booth, it most likely belongs to one of the girls I was with."

"That's where it was."

"Okay, great," said Blaine, and took the patent leather box-feeling thing from the woman. "I'll make sure she gets it back. Thanks a lot."

"If it doesn't belong to her, just bring it back and we'll put it on our lost and found. You have a nice night, now."

"Thank you. You, too."

Blaine started off to his car, absently peeking into the clutch to see if he could identify its owner. Its inside was lined with bright blue satin, and as the waitress had said, there were big silver hoop earrings, a couple of tubes of lip gloss (one a deeper red, and one a peachy shimmer), a little black leather change purse with a skull bedazzled on its front, a Juicy Couture key ring with one gold key on it, and a miniature bottle of TRESemmé Flawless Curl Locking Spray. Blaine huffed to himself in the cold. He felt reasonably sure just by the contents that the clutch was Santana's. Mercedes wasn't prone to skulls. Then again... Santana likely wasn't prone to needing condoms, and Blaine discovered there were two in the coin purse. So maybe the clutch did belong to Mercedes. He put it in his coat pocket for safekeeping.

He climbed into his car and let the engine warm up for a minute, returning to Facebook on his phone and typing in the status bar, _Found somebody's purse at Breadstix. If you believe you are the owner, message me!_

Then he went home and jerked off to a RedTube video called _busty Latina's tits jiggle plowed by Brazilian cock_.

Sunday morning, he woke up to no texts or wall posts from Kurt – not that he expected any, of course – just some notes of congratulations on his performance, a few notifications that others had "liked" the same photo as him, and a message from Santana Lopez.

_Shit, pretty sure that purse is mine. Black clutch, should have the hoop earrings I was wearing last night in it, some Stila lip glosses. Let me know._

_Yep, it's yours!_ Blaine typed back. _I'll bring it to you Friday night._

He was the breakfast table with his parents, sipping honeyed tea and scanning the Arts & Leisure section of the newspaper for any blurbs on McKinley's production of _Grease_ , when Santana replied.

_Can you drop it by my house or something? I actually really need my key._

_Don't you live in Lima Heights Adjacent? That's kind of out of my way._

Her reply came swiftly. _And your bougie 'hood is out of my way._ Another message appeared after a minute. _I'm in the middle of doing laundry. Like I literally am out of clean underwear. I'm also writing 2 papers and I have to drive 4 hrs back to Louisville tonight. Now how's abouts you be a gentleman and bring me my purse, plz and ty._

Blaine frowned, annoyed.

_OK. Give me your address and I'll be there as traffic allows._

"I've got to run an errand," he informed his parents, folding up his newspaper and handing it to his mother. "I'll be back shortly."

"Don't forget your coat," said his mother. "It's nippy out."

"I won't," Blaine said, Santana's nipples peaking and roused under the cups of her bustier coming to mind.

The whole way out to Lima Heights, Santana's clutch still in his coat pocket, Blaine grumbled to himself. Santana was lucky he didn't have all-day Warbler rehearsal every Sunday anymore... or Sunday iChat dates with Kurt... and she was lucky that he hadn't told the waitress just to chuck her bag into the lost and found. But honestly, out of everyone he could think of right then, Santana was probably the person Blaine wanted to see the most. He was fully aware of the fact that he was probably attracted to her because of all the straight porn he'd been consuming, and she was a hot girl who'd gone so far as to get a boob job in high school. Also, she was really bitchy, and he deserved to be bitched at for what he'd done to Kurt. It just seemed to make sense. He was glad the bag didn't belong to someone like Marley or Sugar.

His GPS guided him to Santana's house, which was really nice for one in Lima Heights. It was definitely not part of the run-down neighborhoods. It seemed newer, and if not "bougie" or big, then at least really normal, with a manicured yard clean of dry autumn leaves, a welcome mat, and a pumpkin painted colorfully like a skull lingering by the door. Santana's car, with its distinctively cluttered back window, was in the driveway.

He rang the bell, and after a minute, Santana answered the door.

Blaine's eyes went right to her chest, which sat perky under the worn out black t-shirt she was wearing. He could see a strip of tan skin and her pierced navel between it and the folded-down waistband of a pair of red terrycloth shorts with white piping. Her hair was down, and washed free of its curls, and she wasn't wearing the dramatic false eyelashes she'd rocked last night. She blinked at him as he... well, checked her out.

"Where is it?" 

Blaine chuckled, feeling strange, and pulled the clutch out of his pocket, offering it to her. "Here."

Santana grabbed it and popped it open.

"I didn't take anything," Blaine hastened to assure her. He thought that was obvious. He had no use for lip gloss.

"Yeah, I know you didn't. Those tricky bitches at Breadstix hate me. If they knew this purse was mine, they would've taken all my stuff and tossed it out with yesterday's half-eaten lasagna. Thank god, my key and my hoops are still here."

"Is anything else missing?"

Santana lifted her gaze, then frowned at Blaine. "God, it's cold! Come in."

"Well, you're rather scantily clad," said Blaine, stepping into the small foyer.

"Mm-hmm," shot Santana over her shoulder. "Didn't think you'd mind, what with your wandering eyes."

Blaine, who was unbuttoning his coat just to have something to do other than stare, said, "Who, me?"

She wandered down the hall, barefoot and bare-legged, still rifling through her clutch. "Yeah, you, Pervy McCheaterson. I have to confess, you really had me going there for a while, but I'm not totally shocked you're into girls, too. I remember that gross kiss you laid on Rachel junior year. Let's face it, you are pretty straight-passing when you want to be – not to mention, it's actually really tough to be bi. Nobody believes it's possible to straddle the fence, you get totally judged, and everyone thinks you're just a big slut who will marry a guy in the end."

"Oh – are... are you bi?" Blaine asked, dimly shocked. It had been such a big deal when Santana had been outed that to hear anything even remotely close to a recant was the last thing he'd ever expected to hear.

"I like who I like when I like them. It turns out college is actually kind of educational," Santana returned, then straightened, clutch clicking shut in one hand. "Hey, I appreciate you dragging your ass all the way out here. It was pretty cool of you. Thanks."

Blaine smiled, aw-shucks, and Santana's shoulders gave a sultry wiggle, drawing his eye to her boobs. The fabric of the shirt was so thin, he could see it hanging off her nipples in fine points. She was definitely not wearing a bra.

"Sorry to answer the door practically naked."

"Uhhm-hm-hm," laughed Blaine. "No problem."

"Mm-hmm," she said, mouth pulling into a knowing smile. "You were right, you're not as short as I thought. Funny how your eyes lingering around my tits creates this weird optical illusion that makes you seem shorter."

Unexpectedly, she tossed her slender arms around his shoulders and gave him a hug. She had never once hugged him, not even after _West Side Story_ or when everyone was all over each other after Nationals and graduation, so that was enough of a shock, but he was so aware of her tits under that t-shirt that they were all he could even think about. He wrapped an arm around her back automatically, but she pushed him away again after only a scant moment of their chests warmly touching.

"See you Friday," she said.

"Oh – okay," said Blaine idiotically.

Before the end of the day, he'd beaten off to _busty Latina's tits jiggle plowed by Brazilian cock_ twice more, and had found another video featuring the same busty Latina squeezing her tits around a different cock, skin shining with lube and eventually covered in oozing come. The girl didn't resemble Santana at all, who was thin despite her enhanced bust and had hips that were almost boyish, but the video still worried and tickled at some unfathomable itch. God, he wondered what Santana's cunt looked like, which... was something he hadn't actually ever wondered about a girl. Like, ever.

Over the course of the week, Blaine sat by himself in the back of the choir room, ran all his clubs, attended the continued _Grease_ rehearsals, and did his homework, completely rote and distant from it all.

He kept having stray thoughts about Santana and those condoms in her coin purse. Of course, he was a safe sex advocate and it was good for a college girl to be prepared for anything, and it wasn't weird for a lesbian to carry condoms. What if she got with some girl and they shared a dildo, or whatever? He got it. But it made him wonder if Santana was having sex with guys too. And it made him wonder about what she'd said about bisexuality. Brittany didn't seem to struggle with it. But Brittany was, for lack of a better word, special. He remembered wondering to Kurt if maybe he was bisexual, and Kurt lashing out at him for daring to even think that. Yeah, okay, obviously he hadn't actually been attracted to Rachel, physically, although he found her a stimulating duet partner, vocally. But maybe he would have been similarly unmoved if Nick or Jeff or any of the guys from McKinley had just come up and laid one on him, lips slick with Vaseline.

Maybe he was bisexual.

He looked surreptitiously at Marley. She was a pretty girl, and like Santana she was thin, but she was flat-chested and feeble. Tina had a little bit more going on, but not nearly enough. Brittany's chest size seemed to fluctuate, so he guessed when she wasn't in her uniform she was probably wearing some kind of push-up or padded bra to achieve that look of full, bouncy tits. Sugar definitely did, too, but something about her propensity for tight miniskirts and knee-high socks did remind him pleasantly of Santana, so he kind of enjoyed that. But sadly, Wade "Unique" Adams had the biggest boobs in glee club, so he just had to continue to wonder.

He tried imagining a faceless girl, instead of one in porn or someone he knew, one who he could do anything to. What would he want?

Well, he didn't want to fumble, and he didn't want to lay there side-by-side whispering gently and making out. Blaine liked making out and was extremely good at it, but he just didn't feel like it these days, so his dream girl didn't either. He didn't even want to just frot like he had with that random guy from Facebook. He knew what he wanted: he wanted to see her tits. He was so fixated, so fascinated. What would it feel like to hold them, feel the swells of them? Even better, maybe she'd thrust them in his face and demand he touch them, demand he use his mouth on them. She'd like it so much that even with his cock in her (he couldn't actually imagine what that felt like) she'd want him to fondle them. Unless – unless he started fucking her so hard they rocked and bounced.

When Friday arrived and Santana strutted into the choir room for warm-ups with her high-heeled Steve Maddens, black thigh-highs, and form-hugging floral dress, Blaine came to attention in more ways than one.

She was smiling, lips glossed, and winked at Blaine.

"You're looking lovely today, Santana," Blaine told her casually.

Shooting him a smug glance that told him she was perfectly aware that she was smokin', Santana smoothed her dress down her body and briefly slid her fingers to adjust the plunged sweetheart neckline of her dress.

Blaine, harmlessly gay for all anyone in the choir room knew, assured her, "Those look good, too."

"Why, _thank you_ , Blaine," Santana said, so dry and over-the-top and elongated she sounded totally annoyed, but... Blaine knew the truth. She liked the attention. "And you look less like a Zoloft ad this week."

"I'll take that as the compliment I'm sure it was," said Blaine.

 _Grease_ 's second Friday night went fairly well. Blaine knew Saturday's two shows would be the best ones, because they were the last ones. The technical kinks were smoothed, Mercedes and Mike back at school and not needed now; Sam had forgotten his lines only once. The tickets already all sold out. Everyone had read Fletcher Mantini's review. It was going to be a hard day of work, with two shows to do, but he looked forward to the final curtain call and putting "Beauty School Dropout" behind him.

Backstage after the bow, Brittany sat with Santana at the vanity, brushing the curls out of Santana's hair for her, and Blaine milled with the T-Bird boys and Pink Ladies, discussing plans. There was no after-party at Breadstix this week, although there was a get-together in the choir room planned after the last show tomorrow. Ryder had tons of homework to do and bid everyone goodbye early to go wash all the gel out of his hair. Jake hung around to watch Marley from a distance, even though she'd covered up with her skirt and cardigan over the black spandex. Sugar was trying to organize a sleepover, but Kitty said she sure wasn't hosting it, because she just wanted to barf thinking about Wade inhaling a whole box of Krispy Kremes.

"But... I don't get it," he heard Brittany say. "You're in town, it's Friday night, I'm single, you're single. Just casual cuddling and maybe a goodnight kiss. Maybe with tongue. Or not."

Santana's hand was on Brittany's knee. "I adore you, Brit. You know that. But I don't think we should go there again. Not for a while, anyway. It's still too fresh. It would be too easy to fool around."

"I don't see the problem with that. I miss fooling around with you."

Santana smiled at her, then shook her head and pulled her long dark waves into a ponytail, her spine arching just enough to make the buttons on her Rizzo shirt pull like it couldn't quite contain her boobs.

"Okay, well. I'm just not in the mood for cuddling. Do you get that?"

"Yeah," said Brittany, and stood. "I get it. I'm gonna go to Sugar's slumber party, then."

"Cool. Have fun."

Brittany looked sad as she walked away from Santana, but said as she passed, "Hi, Blaine Angel. Your pants are so white."

Santana turned on the spot, letting her hair go again as she saw him, bangs flippant across her forehead and curling at one cheek.

"Wow, that must be hard," noted Blaine. "To have your ex still want to fool around with you."

At that, Santana stood and began unbuttoning her shirt, which made Blaine's self-pity evaporate like magic. Underneath, she was wearing a black and white striped tank top. She walked toward him slowly, working the buttons open and letting the shirt slide down her slender arms. Her tits filled and stretched the tank top more than generously.

"Wow, Blaine, I don't know what changed, but now that we're not competing for the spotlight and I don't have to hear you and Kurt's terrible harmonies slaughtering all my favorite lady-jams, I super love talking to you," she said. "You're so _insightful_. We should talk more."

Caught off-guard by what seemed to him to be a legit invitation at the end of all those biting words, Blaine said, "Definitely. We have a lot in common."

"Mmm," Santana approved. Her voice lowered so the glee clubbers still chatting backstage wouldn't hear them. "How 'bout we have our own slumber party, just me and you?"

"Do I bring pajamas to this slumber party?"

"Don't bother," said Santana.

"Cool."

"You have my address."

"Yes, I do."

"Come by about midnight."

"Midnight."

"See you later, then."

He was really getting in deep now, Blaine realized remorsefully (but not remorsefully enough to back off). At least if he was a bad person, then Santana was a bad person, too, and neither of them would be alone. They could be bad together.

When he arrived at Santana's house this time, it felt like the dead of night, and she opened the front door before he'd even made it up the walk to the porch. She looked like she'd taken a shower, dressed in another tiny little white ribbed tank that might as well have been transparent, since it was so cold out, the material was so thin, and she wasn't wearing a bra. He recognized her red terrycloth shorts. Good god, he was hard already.

Instead of whispering a hello or any instructions on how to proceed with her parents undoubtedly asleep or anything like that, Santana reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, dragging him with unexpected strength into the house and pushing him against the wall by the door.

Blaine inhaled tightly, smelling her shampoo or soap or whatever, a tangle of girl smells, as Santana pressed up against him.

"Kinda surprised you actually showed," she muttered. "Are you ready for this?"

"Startlingly ready," he breathed back.

He was pulled up a narrow set of stairs in the darkness, his heart beating at least as loud as the squeaky floorboards, but Santana didn't seem worried about the noise. She thrust him into her room, which was dimly lit with a lamp on her dresser. It was weirdly almost exactly like he would've expected Santana's room to be: a dark lair with visible animal print and satiny black sheets. He took a split second to blink at the reggae poster above her bed before turning to see Santana shut the door behind her.

"Take that stupid fucking coat off," she said.

Blaine obeyed, unlocking its wooden toggles and wrestling it down his arms. Santana's eyes raked over his checkered shirt, white sweater, and chinos.

"If I couldn't totally see your truly gigantic hard-on right now, I would be so turned off," she said.

"So what you're saying is, you're turned on," Blaine said, his gaze helplessly dropping to her cleavage. He didn't miss the fact that it made her smile, devilish.

"I get a lady-boner when people appreciate the fine work I've had done. And you are all about that, shorty. I've lost count of the number of times you've gotten a semi looking at these."

Blaine took a steep breath as Santana's fingers delicately circled her breasts.

"I take it you wanna get your hands on them," she continued. "Maybe if you butter me up, I'll let you."

She pushed him back onto her bed, straddling his lap dominatingly but not deigning to actually sit on it.

"Butter you up?" Blaine echoed, so close to Santana's tits that he could feel their heat. He was aching to touch them, just as she'd said. Wow, they were so hot and right in front of his face – so close to his mouth.

"Mm-hmm. Tell me how much you wanna touch my tits, mini-Draper. I know you're into them."

"I..." For a moment, Blaine was at a loss, since it was just such unfamiliar territory. But Santana arched her back and caressed them right through her tank, red nails scratching over the thin fabric, and Blaine's jealous hands gripped at her thighs. "I wanna touch them. I can see your nipples right through your ridiculously thin excuse for a shirt, and... I wanna suck them. Squeeze your... squeeze your tits, Santana, and suck them."

"Suck them, then," Santana whispered, practically holding her tits forward to him in her hands. "Suck them right through my shirt – oh. That's right."

Blaine's mouth had caught her nipple and sucked it hungrily, mouth sliding and futile with the cotton in the way for the two seconds it was dry. His spit soaked through it and he sucked hard at her through the tank, moaning, with Santana leaning and pushing her nipple into his mouth even further. He couldn't taste her skin, not yet, but after the past week it was a fantasy not only coming true, but exploding with vivid realization in his head.

"Yeah," Santana let out, just a breath. "Go ahead and touch them. Squeeze them. You like titties in your face as much as any straight guy, don't you?"

Blaine's hands cupped her breasts cautiously, feeling the weight and heat of her flesh and squeezing them. Even though he'd never groped a girl's boobs before and thus had no point of comparison, he felt like he could tell they were fake, but he didn't care in the least. Actually, it seemed strangely even hotter, like Santana really did want guys to like her body and had enhanced it knowing it would get them boned. He was supposed to look, supposed to touch.

Too excited to show any more restraint, he urgently grasped and pulled her tank right down, popping both her breasts out, where they sat high and crowded over the tight stretch of the collar tucked beneath them. Fuck, they were gorgeous, so round; Blaine huffed and dove for a tight, hard little rosy-brown nipple, taking it in his mouth for real and feeling her tits filling up his whole hands. Santana's breath hissed.

"Fuck, you love it," she accused. "You love those big tits, don't you, gay Warbler. You're all over them."

"Fuck, yes," Blaine breathed helplessly. He was. He could smell the soap on her skin, taste how clean it was. He slurped at her nipple and pulled it with his lips, feeling its gentle stretch and the resilience in its stiff tip. He tongued it, curious, fiddling it between his lips, popping off it wetly to lick and lick. He pressed his face between them and kneaded them with excited fingers, feeling them firm but soft-skinned against his face, moaning. "God, they're so big."

He felt Santana's hips sway and her hand drop down to grope for his dick through his pants, humming in impressed satisfaction when she found it.

"Damn."

"Like what you feel?" Blaine asked, panting.

"I did not see this coming," Santana told him brashly. "You may be pint-sized, but you feel at least as big as Puck! If not bigger!"

"Again, I'm taller than you, and actually, I'm pretty hung," Blaine told her. He hadn't really realized that was the case until he got with Kurt, but now he was well aware it was unexpected and a nice surprise, if his partner was into that kind of thing. He continued, "I'm also just particularly huge right now. I've been hot for you for days."

"Really, now?"

"Yeah – so fucking hot. Jerked off every day thinking about these gorgeous, full tits." He thumbed her nipples, still extremely turned on just to feel his face buried in her exaggerated cleavage.

"Oh," Santana moaned softly, fingers rubbing at him through his pants. "Yeah. Tell me what you thought about. Did you think about this? Me letting you touch them?"

"Yeah, and – more than that..."

"Did you jack it thinking about getting your mouth on my nips?"

"Yes. So much... I thought about – so much..."

"Did you think about doing me?" Santana asked in an astounded breath.

"Yeah, fucking you," admitted Blaine. He honestly couldn't believe he was saying all this. Kurt would've blushed. Blaine had always tried to be gentle and respectful and make the most of fooling around with him, gradually getting him used to dirtier words like _come_ and _cock_. But Santana was even more verbal than he was, and was obviously lapping everything he said up, so he cut his dirty thoughts loose. "Fucking you so hard your tits bounce all over, and pulling out at the last second to cover them with my come. Let my dick slide all over them while they're slick with it."

"Oh, that's hot," Santana responded. "You're getting me wet."

He couldn't hide his pleased surprise. "I am?"

"Totally. I love a dirty mouth, and what with all the 'golly-gosh, gee whiz, guys' crap you usually spout off, I had no idea you could get so filthy. What would you say if I told you I could fuck you right now? Right here?"

"God," uttered Blaine. He wasn't used to that, for sure. He and Kurt had fucked a few times, but just a few, because it was so hard to find the amount of alone time it took to get all mentally and physically prepared. He'd fucking loved it, of course, but in his experience it was a big deal and required so much patience. Santana was talking like she could just hop right on. "I've never fucked a girl. Would that feel good to you, Santana? To have my dick in you?"

"Whip it out, let me see just how hung you really are," she responded.

Blaine scrabbled at his fly and Santana slid off his lap again, her tan tits till pushed up and spilling out over the neck of her little tank. He stared as he got his belt open, then his zip, and grunted as he pulled his dick out from where it had tucked itself near his hip, under his pocket. This was getting insane, but he was all in. He gave his shaft a deep pump, and it stuck literally straight up from his fist, tall and pink-tipped. He watched Santana's expression falter.

"Sweet baby Jesus."

"Well? Am I hung enough for you?" Blaine asked, stroking himself. He was aware it was likely strange to see a huge veiny cock against his tidy Brooks Brothers sweater, this blunt stalk of masculinity always politely tucked away under clean, preppy clothes. He groaned softly, just because he'd never let a girl see him hard before, and the sight of those tits bulging made him want to fuck them. Oh, yeah, he wanted to get his dick between them so bad.

Santana responded by pushing her red shorts down her legs, leaving her in a pair of sporty bikini-cut black cotton panties more modest than he would've expected to see her in. He would've expected a red lace thong or something. But they showed off how tan she was... everywhere. She kicked the shorts aside and crawled back onto him, shoving him onto his back with forceful hands on his shoulders.

"Guess what," she breathed, looking him up and down like he was just a meal for her to devour. "I'm about to give you the ride of your life."

Her hand, slender and yet more confident and demanding than Kurt's had ever been, took his cock and handled it with ease, rubbing the head right between her legs, where he could feel the cleft and moist heat of her pussy right through her panties. Blaine groaned, thigh muscles straining, and after another teasing rub, he reached between Santana's legs to shove the crotch of her panties aside with one thumb.

"Fucking tease," he muttered, discovering she was shaved nearly bare as he exposed her. "You know you want it."

"Yeah, move those damn panties for me," Santana encouraged in a breath, hips canting enough to angle his head right into her. It went from frustrating, teasing friction to the wet slide of her pussy all the way down his dick. Blaine groaned loudly – too loudly, and bit down on it. His cock surrounded in her throbbing wet heat was the best thing he'd ever felt. He'd never say no to a blow job, and Kurt was pretty amazing at them, but this was just different, and had happened in a few hot, slippery seconds. Santana leaned over him and said, "A hundred percent gay, my ass. Fuck, you're hard for this. So big."

"You're so fucking hot," Blaine groaned helplessly.

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, working her hips in an experimental grind and liking the way it felt, he realized. "Oh. God. Aw, yeah. I'm the hottest lay you'll ever get. Christ! Your dick's so fucking big!"

"Yeah? You gonna ride that big dick?" Blaine urged her, feeling faint. He couldn't get over how hot she was inside, how clutching and soft she was, that sweet stretch that clung to his shaft. She was tight, but probably in a different way than he was tight when Kurt fucked him. Santana's fingers clawed into his shoulders of his sweater as she rocked, her tits thrust at his face. God, he was having sex with Santana Lopez, nudging her panties aside and groping her tit. 

She shuddered. "C'mon, don't get shy."

Hands surging, Blaine gripped them until they bulged between his fingers, pushed them together till the cleavage was deep and her nipples poking right at him. He sucked at one, then the other, switching off fast and needy, lips leaving them in hard points. His thumb and index finger slid together to pinch them, pull them, and Santana gasped, "Yeah! Oh, yeah!"

The mattress began to literally bounce under the two of them as she bucked on Blaine's cock, and his hips surged, jamming his dick into that wet, smooth cunt insistently, even as his fingers pinched and tugged in short rhythmic bursts. Santana grunted fiercely, spine going convex, and stopped mid-rock, tossing her hair totally wildly as Blaine fucked her from below, slamming in to the balls.

After a few beats, Santana gave his face a random smack. It kinda hurt, but it wasn't a full-on slap. Blaine didn't flag in the least, anyway.

"Oh, fuck, don't you ever fucking tell a single soul what just happened," she panted.

"What...? Did you just... _come_?" 

"Whatever," Santana groused. "I was turned on before you got here."

"Oh," Blaine panted. "Well, that's okay. It was fun while it lasted."

She huffed. "Idiot. This isn't twink porn. You're fucking a girl. The party only stops when you invariably blow your load, roll over, and fall asleep."

"All I heard was 'I can go all night,'" said Blaine. "C'mon. Get on your back. Let me fuck you for a while."

Santana hummed, sliding off him and leaving his cock soaking wet with, well, her own juices, he guessed, accustomed only to spit and lube. She even pulled her tank top off with a stretch, leaving her gloriously nude from the panties up.

"I wouldn't be opposed if you shucked those terrible pants down," she said, leaning back against her pillow and arching for his benefit.

"You don't want anything in the way of getting filled with my whole entire cock, do you," Blaine translated, giving his chinos and briefs a push as he got to his knees. His dick snapped up freely, worked steely-hard and deep pink. Santana answered by rubbing at her pussy with two restless fingers and pushing the wet panties aside again. This time Blaine got a better view, or rather, an actual look, and he liked what he saw. Everything was neat, slim folds that opened slowly into pink as he nudged his cock into them, finding his way on his own. Santana adjusted, knees opening up more and then lifting for him as he leaned over her, sliding himself in till he felt like coming just from the feel of his dick seating itself deep in pussy. It was so easy to get in her, but felt so fucking good.

"Damn, you really are big," she gasped. "Forgot what that's like. Actual dick that deep in me."

"Are you sure you're gay?" Blaine asked doubtfully, earning himself another shove to the face.

"How 'bout you, are you gay for pay or something?"

"No, I just – love your tits," Blaine said, flexing and working his dick in her. He'd never been on top of _and_ inside someone before but he found immediately that it suited him, because he was off to the races, sheathing himself in her cunt over and over, hips picking up a pounding rhythm.

Santana tensed and pushed her hands at her own tits, making them press together tight for him, and moaned, "Fuck. Give me that! Give me that big gay dick. Work it, god. Get it all wet in there. Wet with that girl come. Fuckin' nail me with it. Yeah. Don't hold back. My parents never wake up when I fuck, girls or guys. Think you can make me scream for it, Blaine Warbler?"

"Fuck!" Blaine lost it, ramming her till Santana had to let her perfect tits go and grab at Blaine's biceps, her pussy quivering around his meat.

"Yeah, you're gonna – make me come. Fuck that pussy," she demanded under her breath. "Fucking make my titties bounce on your dick. You like that, don't you, you gay little fuckin' dreamboat? Look at them _bounce_. You're fucking me so good."

He came so hard in her, growling and half-shouting, that for a hot minute, he thought there was no possible way he was gay. Never had been. Never would be. He had to be straight. He shot his seed in her deep, listened to her throaty chuckle, and spurted off with several further hard jerks of his cock, filling her up.

A dim sense of panic was the next thing to set in.

"God, I just fucking came in you!" he breathed in disbelief. "Jesus Christ! I'm not even wearing a condom – you should've told me to pull out!"

"Calm down, midget," Santana panted. "I've been on birth control since seventh grade. We're not going to have any short, bossy, bushy-browed mini-mes."

"–Oh. Oh. Fuck."

Relief flooded him so hard it was a little orgasmic all on its own. Blaine shook his head hard, stunned, and Santana gave his shoulders another push, shoving him over easily. He slipped out of her, slick with both of their come, and wound up on his back.

"Whoa," she commented dryly, slender thighs splayed open. Her panties were somehow still curved open around the pink gape of her snatch and her black satin sheets were sloppy with his come. More slid out of her as Blaine watched, sort of surprised by how hot it was to know his spunk had really been up inside her. It was dripping out of her folds in thick gushes, slippery and mostly transparent in some places, white and clingy in others.

"Jeez! That's so hot," Blaine told her honestly.

"A hot mess."

"Is that why you have black sheets?" kidded Blaine, panting there on his elbows. "So you can see it when there's come all over them?"

Santana side-eyed him. "Well. We think more alike than I ever would have guessed."

"Oh? We think alike, huh? So what am I thinking right now? Tell me, Santana. Since you're so smart, and I'm so smart, and we overlap in unexpected ways. No pun intended."

She cocked her chin thoughtfully, considering. "Well, I bet you're thinking you're not like those inconsiderate straight douches who just hump their hook-up and roll over and start snoring. You're better than them. You're wondering how quick you can get it up again so you can stick it between these amazing tits of mine, come all over them, and make me even more of a mess."

"That's... eerily close," confirmed Blaine.

"Fill in the gaps, then, Teen Angel."

"You're right. I do want to fuck those amazing, round, perfect, big tits. I wanna feel them all over my cock. Get them soaking wet with precome till my dick's just sliding all over them, slippery."

"Mm, and?" Santana hummed, smiling in satisfaction.

"I don't wanna just use them. I mean, I do. But before I do, I wanna stick my dick back in your sweet little pussy and feel how totally wet you are for it. A fucking only a real cock can give you. Only a big, hot, real dick. I wanna fuck that lesbian cunt that usually only likes other girls with this big gay prick of mine. I wanna fuck it good, till you're coming all over it, drenching it, squeezing it. Then I want to pull out of that hot clenching pussy, wet with all your slick girl come, and shoot my load all over your tits."

"If you don't follow through with this," Santana said, "I will end you and make it look like you just tied your bow tie a little too tight while you jacked it to a One Direction pinup."

"Let me suck your nipples," he whispered, and got her leg twining over his, her hands pulling his face into her chest.

Blaine sucked, nibbled, played and pinched till she groaned, chubbed as soon as he could while she called him a tit-sucker, a cock-sucker, a miniature horse, told him to spit and get those titties all wet, and said she didn't do this for just anyone, but for him she'd make an exception. She slid down his body and glared up at him heatedly as she pushed her tits around his dick and let him slide his cock between them in slow pushes. They were firm and so big and so fake and so sexy, he couldn't help his slit dripping gushes of precome into her cleavage as he stared at his cock sliding between them, tip puncturing out from their grip naked but disappearing into it again as he moved his hips. He was titty-fucking her in self-indulgently fast, slippery thrusts by the time she abruptly let go, climbed onto his cock, and started riding away, skin shining in the lamplight.

Moaning heatedly, Blaine rolled his hips and pinched her slippery nipples in bursts of tight attention, and she came on him again after only a minute. He assumed he'd found a button of some kind, because he certainly hadn't done it on purpose. After a few moments of panting and shivering, she consented to swaying on all fours as he took her panties down to her knees and pounded into her from behind. He grasped at her slender hips and rocked her back onto him forcefully, knowing her boobs were swaying, her long dark hair getting rhythmically swung and tossed like she was a music video vixen. She was cussing at him, groaning loudly. He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her back against his dick, rough, bouncing her on his lap shamelessly so he could really fucking see her chest rocking.

"Gonna come, Santana," he told her as it built in him. "Don't wanna ruin your sheets... where should I come...?"

"Come on my tits," she groaned, which was exactly what he wanted to hear. "C'mon, Blaine."

"You want my load on your tits?"

"Yeah. I know you're dying to shoot it on these big titties."

"God... fuck." He pushed her forward again and pulled himself out, edging, dick wet in his hand. "Show 'em to me, you hot bitch."

Pink-cheeked, Santana flipped over for him, and shoved her tits right up to receive the white rope of come he jerked out, busting thick and copious out of his slit and sliding into her cleavage. He grabbed at and thrust between those soft-skinned tits, letting off with a grunt as they stroked his sensitive shaft, then let go, cock twitching and blurting out the last dribbles over one nipple. He watched it cling to the pinch-reddened bud and moaned.

"Sick," Santana commented, but obliged him when Blaine again reached out to squeeze her slippery boobs and bent over to suck the nipple that was bitter with his own come. It garnered a breathy laugh, but Blaine fucking adored it, sucking jizz off one nipple and smearing it over the other, his fingers gripping and sliding over her tit endlessly. It was heaven. He licked, broad-tongued, at the puddles of jizz that gathered in her cleavage, chasing it over her sternum.

After a couple minutes of that, Santana's fingers crept between her legs.

"Clean it the fuck up," she whispered, getting herself off as he did so eagerly. He liked it when she came; her chest swelled and jerked with the wracks of her body, and he shoved his face right against them.

Several hours later, Santana shook him awake rudely.

The light hadn't changed at all so he wondered if he'd passed out for just a few minutes after their goddamn marathon, but she croaked, "It's almost six-thirty. My mom'll be up at seven. You need to get outta here and I have yet more laundry to do now, thanks."

Blaine moved urgently, still half-asleep but successfully finding his abandoned shoes, underwear, and pants around her bed, slowly taking in the strangeness of waking up next to a naked girl with his shirt and sweater still on.

Actually, now that they weren't fucking like crazy and he was waking up to reality, he seemed to remember that actually, Santana wasn't all that fond of him. They were barely actual friends. More just like Facebook friends... what had he done? He wasn't cheating on anybody, this time, but it sure felt like he had done something categorically wrong. Why was he doing this; what did this mean? Could he even call himself gay? If he and Kurt ever got back together, what would he say? _Kurt, I'm sorry. I was really depressed and confused. I know you're not interested in what happened, but we weren't together, and I think I'm..._

Santana had risen and was pulling a t-shirt from a laundry basket full of folded clothes. Blaine found himself ogling her perfect boobs before he made himself stop and concentrate on getting his pants up again.

"Guess I'll see you at... school," he said awkwardly.

"Yep. See you backstage," she replied, clipped, stepping into new panties.

Did she feel half as strange as he felt? Maybe she couldn't. No, she couldn't possibly. She'd done it with a guy before; that much was utterly obvious.

"Santana," he began, "I –"

"Oh, god, you're not going to have a crisis of sexuality on me, are you?" she asked wearily.

Blaine's eyebrows perked.

"You might be bisexual, okay? You weren't just closing your eyes and pretending I was a dude. You were into it." She rolled her eyes. "Look, it doesn't have to be this big deal. I love girls most of the time. You love guys most of the time. Maybe sometimes, you just wanna ogle a nice pair of tits. Sometimes I like me some dick. Most guys are nasty and uncomplicated, and I like things a little nasty and a lot uncomplicated. You, by the way, were a pleasant surprise, so don't fuck it up by complicating it. I don't like guys the same way I like girls, and maybe you do like girls that way, or maybe you don't, whatever. But I don't have feelings for you or anything gross like that, and if I thought you had feelings for me, I'd have punched you in the nuts while I had ample opportunity."

Blaine took all that in silently, realizing she was right. Regardless of how very much he'd enjoyed the sex, he didn't like Santana in that way. He did like her as a friend, he supposed, but even that connection was tenuous at best. He tried to picture the two of them dating, doing anything other than sharing a stage, and knew very simply that it wasn't right for him. He couldn't imagine being in a relationship with her. And Santana probably felt the same. Maybe the thing he'd liked most about the sex was just that it had been more like crazy porno sex and not tender, loving sex.

She shrugged, crossing her arms and framing her boobs. "It doesn't have to be anything more than a fuck, okay? An exchange of energies. And body fluids."

"If that's all, then... fine," said Blaine, pulling his coat on. "Thanks for being the first girl I ever had sex with and setting the bar impossibly high for your gender, ensuring I will probably never want to exchange energies with another girl."

Santana grinned, one shoulder lifting. "It's what I do. I'm a ruiner."

"Okay, then. Thanks for ruining women for me. See you backstage."

"We're doing this again tonight, right?" she asked.

"Well... yeah, obviously," said Blaine. "A five-star performance such as this definitely calls for an encore."

"You were pretty good, too."


End file.
